A New Joan
by StoryDiva
Summary: Spoilers through season finale! Adam and Joan dealing with things after she leaves the hospital. Written for the 15minute ficlet challenge. Angsty ficlet.


**Title: ** The New Joan 

**Author: ** storydivagirl [at] hotmail [dot] com 

**Disclaimer: ** Don't own Joan or Adam or any other character from _Joan of Arcadia_. I'm a fan. That's all. 

**A/N: ** Feedback always appreciated. Ficlet written for the 15minuteficlet word challenge at Livejournal. 

**_Word 59: Replacement._**

Whenever he focused on her for too long now, Adam became convinced that he was not spending time with Joan. Sure, it looked like Joan, even smelled like her too, but it wasn't her that left the hospital. It wasn't the Joan Girardi he had come to love more than almost everything else, but rather this pea-pod version. A Stepford replacement of Joan. 

Adam wondered if maybe this was his doing, some weird self-fullfilling prophecy that Grace had gone on about when they had walked over to visit Joan. He couldn't help but think that maybe by spending so much of his energy on keeping her from changing, he had forced the issue. And it wasn't like it was a major change either. It wasn't like a metamorphoses so large that he could point at her and scream for everyone to come see, to witness how much she had changed. Because no one else seemed to notice it, or didn't care enough to mention it. 

She was so..._fragile_. 

He couldn't recall ever thinking that about her before. Not once. Not even when that kid she babysat died or when he was so mad at her that neither of them thought they could ever get past it. He had seen so much from her because she was usually so open--sad, upset, worried, but never broken. 

She would sit in her living room and stare at the television, even though it wasn't on, and mutter out ridiculous excuses for why she couldn't go somewhere with him—too tired, too busy, too bored, etc, etc. It was always _something _and he was starting to think he was the one who had broken her. 

What are you staring at? 

Adam was caught off guard. Usually these forced evenings of video watching were nothing more than acts to appease everyone else—to keep her family from saying, Snap out of it, Joan. Adam knew this, but he had come to terms with the fact that he would take any Joan he could get at the moment, even if it wasn't really her, but some sort of replacement girl who probably didn't want to pay him the time of day. 

He turned to face her, searching her eyes for something, some spark that was innately Jane, but upon another failed mission, he sighed and admitted, 

Adam, that's not an answer. 

I knew you were staring at me. 

So why did you ask? 

Because I wanted to know why you were staring at meor make you uncomfortable enough that you stopped it, she replied. She paused the movie and folded her arms protectively across her chest. This was how they sat now. Like her parents had caught them making out one too many times and now they had to keep their distance whenever they were alone—except this wasn't an adult thing forced on them, this was all Joan. 

So why not ask me why I'm staring instead? Adam asked. 

She growled under breath and rolled her eyes, Well, why _are _you staring at me? 

He shrugged and she pointed at him, I'm not letting you off so easy. Why, Adam? When he didn't say anything quick enough, she stood up and hovered over him. It was an odd thing to say, but it made him feel good, calm even. In that flash of a second, he saw the girl he had known all year, the one who caused his heart to stop beating for a second when she walked into a room. She motioned around the living room and shouted, Why won't you say it? Why won't you call me on all the crappy stuff I've been doing to you the past month? Don't you care? 

Because I catch myself being so..._mean_...to you and I hate myself for it. But it's likeit's like this whole big thing, like I've been sucked up into something bigger, like I can't trust my own emotions or beliefs anymore because it could just be me being sick...and then you don't even notice— 

I noticed, Joan, but I didn't— 

So why don't you say anything? Why don't you talk to me about it? she asked. She pushed the tears from her eyes and sat down on the coffee table right in front of Adam. He hated seeing her cry. He hated being the reason she cried even more. He reached out for her hand, but she pulled it back as though his touch was painful. She gulped for air and finally, once she had calmed down a little, went on, I feel so alone, Adam. 

You're not. 

I'm here for you, but you don't talk to me. I've stopped asking or talking because it seems like what you want from me. 

I want you to believe in me. I want you to she shook her head and smirked, Remember when I got you the photograph? He nodded and smiled, remembering the closeness between them on the roof—something that seemed a lifetime ago considering the huge chasm of emotion between them now. She took his hand and said, I had faith in you and that photograph was my way of trying to give some of that to you. 

I know. 

Well, maybe I need you to do that for me. Is that so hard to believe? 

I told you something in the hospital and you've been pretending it never happened. 

Adam searched his memory. So many things were thrown at him that night, so many things he couldn't process because he was too scared about Joan. Then he remembered the way she had made him promise to believe her, the way she looked like a small doll that could break at any moment, and the way she cried when he tried to make sense of what she had told him. 

Jane, you were sick— 

Do you think that makes it easier? It doesn't, Adam. It makes it worse! To think, to finally have that sort of belief that no matter what happens in life, there is someone or something watching out for us and it would all be okay—you took that away from me. 

I didn't mean to. 

She laughed bitterly and said, I can't do this with you right now. I'm so sick of pretending everything is okay between us—that things haven't changed. How can you stand it? 

I don't even know— 

She let go of his hand and stood herself up. She glanced at him for a moment, wearing that perfectly imperfect Joan-face that said so much without making a sound, and made her way to the stairs. She called out, Goodnight Adam. 

I'll talk to you tomorrow, she replied. She lifted her arm over head and waved carelessly as she made her way up the stairs. 

Things were definitely different, Adam thought as he lifted himself from his place on the couch. He gathered his stuff and decided that he would do whatever he had to do to get his Joan back because he just couldn't stand this replacement. 

_{Fin}_


End file.
